Wake
by Poetisme
Summary: A little composition completly of my own world. A creative writing assignment.


"Wake"

At the end of the nineteenth century, a girl from Connetiut got on a milk train to Nebraska and took a hard greenseat in a second-class car. Her pride would not allow her to sit near any of the other passengers. She sat rigidly in the front of the car, giving no one the prospect of disturbing her supreme dignity with conversation.  
Just weeks ago she would have made this trip on a private coach with plush seats, silk pillows and servants to fetch her heart's desire. That time had passed. She sighed and looked at the parchment in her bundle that contained a half-loaf of rye. The last boarding call was cried out by the conductor and the dim morning scenery rolled past as the lifeless behemoth began to move. The prospects of being in Nebraska made her skin crawl. She loved Delaware, her home, being cared for and most of all her fine things. Her mother died when she was small, and nurse maids had pampered her endlessly. Her father died while he was away gambling and lost a fortune in the process, something about a fight and a debt, but she had not been told any of the critical details. The wealth she had depended on was gone, including any chance of inheritance. All of her luxuries, and the help she took for granted. The only thing that concerned her was that she was alone and destitute and on her way to Omaha. After the funeral her father's sister sent for her at the orphanage she had been plunged into. Every servant left, they all went to find other jobs. All of them had no loyalty to her, even her beloved nanny Willard abandoned her. What could they do without her? She only then realized that loving her and taking care of her had been a job, not actual affection. Her angry mind toiled and worried until she drifted to sleep. Her dreams wandered and took her back three weeks. She found herself at her fathers wake. All of the mourners were milling around her manor whispering dejectedly and stuffing themselves with food out of grief. Every business contact her father had showed up in a dapper black suit and offered her condolences out of pity. She stifled tears as she watched from a window seat as the old women paraded around in a show of mourning with their feathered hats and veils, all of them swooping crows, gathering her up in stranger-hugs. Her father's University friends smiled meekly as they talked about "poor bastard" being too young, and what a tragedy it was that he squandered his wealth and about the good old days; casting her sorry looks from the corners of the room when they thought she wasn't looking. She had taken to swinging her feet to hit the buckles on the trim under the armchair her father enjoyed when he was home. Her nanny patted her leg to stop her from scratching the wood, but what did it matter...it wasn't hers anymore. Soon the guests cleared and the servants began to leave. Nanny Willard stayed with her until she was to be taken to the children's home early that next day. As she waked her up the cracked stone steps faded eyes peered at her from the grimy window panes. Her nanny bid her farewell and hugged her around the shoulders.  
"Things could be worse my dear, maybe we can find someone to take you home" her nanny whispered in her ear as she hugged her. "Maybe" said the young girl.  
Two weeks in the home and she realized how bad things could get. The other children with their droopy eyes pleading for adoption or even recognition made her sad. She would not play with them, at eleven she was too old to hope for adoption by a rich unfruitful couple, so she sat and waited. A letter arrived from her father's sister Matilda in Omaha, where ever that was. One day ago she was in the orphanage; now on a train headed to certain unhappiness. She awoke from her slumber with time to have a bit of her bread and hear the call for the station in Omaha, a shallow breath was all she allowed herself before she packed her bundle and stood. The train door opened and the light of uncertainty blinded her. A silhouette on the platform, the only indication of life in this godforsaken place. She would have rather stayed in an empty, unloved stone manor house alone than share this dust and sun with any living relative.


End file.
